


Clash of The Sociopaths, Fall of The Titans

by killajokejosie



Series: To Live And Die In Holmes [12]
Category: Dexter (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awesome Molly Hooper, Comic, Dexter has no preference, Disguise, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, F/M, Fish out of Water, Fluff, Greg Lestrade & John Watson Friendship, I give up, John Feels, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Moriarty is probably out there somewhere, Mycroft is not above abuse with his umbrella, Pansexual Character, Parent John Watson, Possessive Sherlock, Protective John, Sally Donovan knows things, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Being an Idiot, Sweaters, cross dressing, female murder, how the hell do I tag this bang up?, just have to look closer, out of hiding, plaid disturbance, solve a murder with murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-11 03:31:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killajokejosie/pseuds/killajokejosie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"That is...underwhelming," Sherlock mumbled at the sight in front of him.</p><p>"Well, what do you want me to do about it? You were the one who told me to pull it out." John grumbled in response.</p><p>"It is so small, I guess I just imagined it would be bigger,"</p><p> </p><p>Cases get weird when Sherlock is sent out in disguise, but he will do anything to catch this particular killer. Little does he know, someone else is on the killer's trail, but this person is interested in more than just putting them in jail and he isn't too keen on the consulting detective stepping on his toes. This man does not come out of hiding for just anything, this is a big deal. Has Sherlock met his true equal? Or is he in more trouble than he ever thought possible?</p><p>(Can be stand alone, does have terrible summary, do not need to know anything about the other show to understand this mess of my brain)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm American, bored, and I have no beta. I am so sorry about that. I would fix it if I could. I just hope someone appreciates my randomness.

 

"That is...underwhelming," Sherlock mumbled at the sight in front of him. 

"Well, what do you want me to do about it? You were the one who told me to pull it out." John grumbled in response.

"It is so small, I guess I just imagined it would be bigger," 

"That is what everyone wants to hear,"

"Just being honest. I really can't understand what all of the fuss was about. It is so SMALL!" Sherlock was about to reach out and grab it, but pulled his hand back when he quickly changed his mind.

"Dammit, if you aren't going to finish the job, then I will." Lestrade grabbed the doll out of the box, ripping open the back to yank out the ticking battery pack. "There! You mo-rons happy now!?"

Sherlock and John stood still in the middle of the aisle of toys. Sherlock was now holding the dismantled dolly in his hands. Lestrade had stormed off. 

"That...wasn't very nice," John finally said after what must have been at least five minutes of silence. 

"Yes, indeed, not nice at all," Sherlock replied, slightly shocked. The doll now appearing to be cradled in his large hands.

"The doll is pretty pathetic though, doesn't even look like you," 

"I should get one for Molly, one that doesn't have a battery pack," 

"That is definitely creepy," John wrapped an arm around Sherlock's waist. "But enough of that, we have work to do,"


	2. Sociopath in a Sweater Dress

Sherlock's crafty hands went to work at smoothing the hosiery up the length of his legs. He worked out all of the kinks around his thighs and adjusted the amount of fabric around his mildly masculine knees.

The sweater dress was pulled over his head. He put his arms through the sleeves, moving the seams to the proper place as he went along. He shuddered slightly when his fingers brushed against the white scar across his abdomen. Next he clasped the belt tight around his waist and began to work on the boots.

One last look in the mirror. He ruffled his hair, which was held down in part by a head band, and checked his makeup one more time. It was good, enough. It would never be perfect. At least it was dark.

He exited the bathroom and came face to face with Sally. Her eyebrows shot up and the consulting detective could only begin to fathom what would come out of the woman's mouth.

"Sherlock...I...um, never imagined what you would look like with breasts. When Lestrade said we were going undercover, I guess I thought that you would be dressed like Sherlock. You look nice though." 

Sherlock cocked his head to the side, but didn't address any of the things that Sally said. He walked into the sitting room where all of the supplies for the case had been set up. 

"Stop, John. Stop it right now." Sherlock scolded the doctor who had stopped typing just to catch a glimpse of the man in the dress. John didn't think it was fair, because Sherlock was in drag and still looked absolutely amazing.

"I am so mad that I agreed not to take pictures," Anderson chuckled. He really had no business being there, but Lestrade was not about to listen to him whining about not coming along.

"John! Stop staring at me!" 

John shook his head. "I can't. I can't. Sherlock, you have breasts, and legs, and eyes, and a tiny waist and it is throwing me hella off."

"Do you realize that only one of the attributes you have listed is out of the ordinary?"

"You may have most of it all the time, but you are not usually all tarted up," 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Molly handed him his new handbag, which he swung over his shoulder. He trusted that everything was already stocked inside. The three of them would be moving onward to the pub in just a few moments.

"Are you ready, Sherlock?" Molly asked, just as dressed up as Sherlock and Sally were. 

"Ready as ever," Sherlock playfully flipped his short, curly hair. "And please, darling, call me, Sher,"

"Head big, cause much mouth ridiculousness," Lestrade said like a caveman.

"Quiet you!" Sherlock shouted. "Quiet...Gr...e..y...Gregory!"

The fact that he got the correct name out that fast caused the whole room to fall silent.

***

"Is everyone certain that someone won't try to pick up Sherlock? It is dark and he is sort of androgynously pretty on a normal day, let alone in a dress. What if Sally and Molly are ignored and the cameras hidden in Sherlock's clothes go to waste?" John asked, ten minutes in.

"Why do you care if someone tries to pick up Sherlock?" Phillip asked.

"Hm. I don't know. MAYBE BECAUSE HE IS MY HUSBAND!" 

Lestrade cut in. "Anderson, shut up. John, take your blood pressure meds."

Lestrade would have continued and made sure the two didn't start fighting again, but his mobile was ringing. The distinct sound of a brooding tone only meant one thing, Mycroft wanted something.

***

Sherlock sat at the bar sipping reluctantly on the glass of whatever weirdness Sally ordered him. He had broken it down to cranberry juice, vodka, and a second alcohol that had a sour taste. Sally and Molly were making the rounds, doing their best to lure the murderer out of hiding. The rate at which things were going, this was going to take all night. Sherlock couldn't do much of anything, the cameras in the oversized earrings he was wearing steady for Lestrade's men and for John.

"Ey, what are you drinking?" Asked a magnificently southern belle. He figured by her accent that she was from Louisiana. She also came from old money that was routed back to England, causing her to be out of her element and mind. 

"To be honest, I am not sure," Sherlock replied, using the strange, breathy voice they had practiced for hours. "A friend ordered it for me, she wanted me to loosen up."

The blonde took the glass and tried the contents. "I drink a lot and I am still not sure what is in this. I will order you something better."

"What is your name?" Sherlock asked.

"Anna, yours?"

"She...Shailine," He was not sure where the name came from, but it rolled off the tongue so easily that he just ran with it. 

"That is a really cool name. I think it suits a fine woman such as yourself. Those legs, I could just imagine what it is like to be in between them." Anna bridged the gap and got unbelievably close to Sherlock, chests touching. "I bet I could have your long body writhing in under five minutes."

Sherlock had no idea how to react. He knew she was intoxicated, that she actually thought he was a woman, and that she was more than likely a lesbian. However, during their awkward banter, he lost track of the two women he was supposed to be paying close attention to. There was no way to balance this out properly without causing a scene with an alcoholic.

"Oh my," Sherlock whispered. Anna was the target. If he played along and stayed near her he would catch the killer. 

"Do you like the way all of that sounds?"

"Hell," Sherlock looked around for any sign of suspicious activity. If the killer made even the smallest gesture he would be the first one to do something about it.

He had to think about the facts. All of the victims were blond, late twenties, and dressed affluently. They were all picked up from a location on this particular street and all were found cut in half with their eyes burned out. Why hadn't they brought a blonde or put one of them in a blonde wig? And why hadn't he considered the hair color of the women before?

"Do you use box dye or go to a hair salon?" Sherlock asked, dropping the fake voice.

"Umm...a hair salon? Why? I just had it done, can you tell?" 

"Just a hunch,"

"I so knew you were a dude,"

"Doubtful. Now, I suggest you stay near me or we are going to have some serious problems."

"Why should I listen to a drag queen?"

"Shut. Up. Now."

A man in a horrendous plaid blazer approached the bar. Sherlock would have brushed him off, except for this man had blood under his index and middle fingernails on his right hand. The person who killed the blonde women was definitely right handed.

Lestrade and the rest of the police watched intently, waiting for the signal to move in. Sherlock knew better than to act prematurely, so he nonchalantly threw his drink back, never allowing his eyes to drift away from the man's hand. 

His eyes grew heavy. New development. Anna slipped something in the drink before she knew that he was a man. Hair color was not important. It was a total coincidence. She planned on dealing with him. There was something that didn't add up, however, why did the man have blood under his fingernails? Was he her accomplice?

None of that mattered anymore. He couldn't very well figure it all out while drugged and certainly not after he passed out. 


	3. Sociopath in a Towel

Anna was apprehended. They were able to get her on charges specifically linked to the illegal substances on her person, the ones that spilled out of her purse after a very 'inebriated' Molly knocked into her. That was good enough until they could link her to any other crimes, particularly the murders that Sherlock mumbled about before passing out. 

This did nothing for their new problem. Sherlock was missing. Someone had slipped out of the pub with him before they got there, knowing to stay out of the view of all of the cameras. 

The captor was brilliant. Lestrade had to enlist everyone, including Sherlock's oddly loyal network of homeless people. Mycroft pulled all of the strings that were necessary on his end. They were going to get him back if it was the last thing that they did.

"It has been eight hours," He whispered, trying not to wake the sleeping one-year-old in his arms. His rage bellowed up anyways. "Eight bloody hours! And there are still no leads! Sally and Molly got home okay! Sherlock could be dead! I am pissed."

Lestrade tiptoed over to John. "Should I take Hamish? Should I put him in the nursery with his sister?"

"No! I am fully capable of holding my son and laying him in the crib when it is needed." 

"It is going to be okay. We will find this guy." Lestrade said with a misjudged pat on the back. 

"Until you know for sure that my husband is on his way back home, alive, don't tell me it is going to be okay," 

Sally overheard and walked out of the kitchen where the makeshift databases and surveillance was set up. "No one is good enough to go completely unnoticed. Whoever took Sherlock probably came into close proximity at least once. Watch the footage, get an idea of who we are looking for."

John handed the baby to Lestrade, rushing to the computers that recorded everything the cameras had seen. This might have been the breakthrough they were looking for. Because of it, the five still in the flat crowded around him with hope and wonder.

"Plaid jacket, bloody fingers," John whispered, he just hoped they weren't too late.

***

Sherlock wiped the sleep from his eyes and sat up. He looked around, taking in the decent accommodations of the hotel room. It was being used by an American male, early to mid forties, auburn hair judging by the two that had fallen on him, and the man was frantic. He was in hiding. Sherlock didn't even have to bet that the reservation for the room had been made under a false name.

He listened. The man was in the shower. The choices were to find an escape route or find out why he was still alive. He chose the latter. 

He got off of the perfectly made bed and went straight for the laptop. It was locked, for all of twelve seconds, but that didn't matter. The cache history was filled with websearch results revolving around recent murders in England and a certain hat wearing detective. This man was into doing his research.

The man walked out of the bathroom with nothing on, but a towel around his waist. He raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms, but the smile on his face made it all the more confusing.

"Bien, Senor Holmes, que le dijo estaba bien, pero no pense que seria tan bueno," He laughed.

"How did you find out about me? Have you been following me?" 

"Well, I was not originally following you. In fact, I would not really say that I was following you at all. It just so happened that you and I took interest in the same cases." The attractive man, not that the married detective was really paying that much attention, keeping his smile.

"You are not a detective,"

"Duh," The man shook his head. "I once was a part of the Miami Metro Homicide Division, blood spatter," 

"Is that what you mean by cases then, examining blood spatter?"

"I kill bad people. I was in retirement, in hiding, if you will, but a murder caught my eye and I followed it to England. The dark urge took over again and I have been taking care of the ones that the police miss. Just recently decided to hit up London since a few things have perked my interest. I would have caught another bad person last night, but you got in the way, again. Makes the third one."

"You were going to kill Anna because you knew that she had murdered six women? You could have captured her and turned her into the authorities."

"Sherlock, the world is better when there is one less piece of scum in it. Anna also has killed seven, not six. You didn't even know she was the one committing the murders until I distracted you with my jacket so I am guessing that you have no idea why she does it."

"That does not check out, why would you do any of that?" 

"Open a new tab on the laptop that you hacked into and type in the name Dexter Morgan. Add Miami, Florida if you wish." 

"Dexter Morgan," Sherlock said the name aloud as he typed. After fishing through some useless pages of theories and a fan club for the  _Bay Harbor Butcher_ he found a news article of interest. "Dexter Morgan is dead."

"You were too, once, information that is readily available on the internet."

They remained silent. Sherlock was trying to judge Dexter, understand who exactly he really was. Dexter, on the other hand, was trying to gauge whether or not Sherlock planned to attack him. It was tense, enough.

"You kill, you love blood, you kidnapped me. You appear to be a psychopath."

"Sociopath, and I am better at it than you,"

"Hardly,"

Dexter, still in a towel, grabbed Sherlock by the hair. "My family is safe, is yours?"

"Of course they are, what are you going to do?"

"I knew when I was in too deep, over my head. I escaped so that my son would be able to live a normal life. A good, true, high functioning sociopath knows when to stay away. I don't think you do. Ya know what? I am not explaining this further. I picked you up so you could assist me with a case, not to share coping methods." Dexter groaned.

"While I admit that I am a fan of your methods, I do not condone them. I also can't see any reason for me to give you any sort of help, especially after you abducted me. How did you even know it was me?" 

Dexter shook his head. "Sherlock, stop trying to analyse it. Just stop. I knew it was you because you still look like Sherlock Holmes, even in a dress. Get over it. And, while I would have liked to capture Anna, I have a bigger target to attend to. If you help m catch him, I'll promise not to kill him."

"I would like to solve a case that got a murderer off of the streets. That is what I do. Come to think of it, if I turned you in I would be solving a partial problem." Sherlock's mind was spinning hundreds of possibilities. He didn't know Dexter, at all, just the few facts that he picked up online and even still the information could have been false. Sherlock was still alive though.

"You are mad. That is saying a lot, coming from me. Don't contact the police. I want to remain in hiding. The deal is that we work together and then I can disappear."

"Can I at least go home to my flat? People will worry about me and then the police will find you."

"The police are at your flat,"

"More than likely,"

"Then call ahead. Clear them out."

"I suppose that can be arranged,"


	4. Are You Out?

"Sherlock is calling," John said in shock as his mobile continued to ring. The relief running though his entire body almost to the point where he couldn't answer the phone. 

"Slide to answer! Slide to answer! Answer it, John!" Molly shouted. She had spent all of the time since Sherlock's disappearance at the flat. 

"Right. Right." He caught it just before it went to voice mail. "Sher, are you okay? Where the hell are you?"

 _'Go somewhere where Lestrade cannot hear you. Unless the phone is already tapped to pick up my location, then you can let him hear what I have to say. If that is the case and the call is being traced, then Mycroft is involved and I am going to hang up.'_ Sherlock said calmly.

John moved into the nursery, partially out of the range of police ears. "Okay. Done. Now, tell me what is going on."

 _'I am unharmed and my captor does not intend to bring any future harm to me in any way. He has me in a hotel room, but is willing to bring me back if you get the...authorities out of the flat. He does not want to be turned in to them, he just wants our help.'_ Sherlock explained further.

"I am supposed to believe that all of this is true and...not at all like what happened with Moriarty?"

_'It isn't. I believe I can trust this man. Just do as I have said and it should all be fine.'_

"Alright, I will do what I can,"

 _'I knew that you would,'_ Sherlock said, ending the call.

John walked into the den with his mobile in one hand and his other hand on his hip. "Sherlock's kidnapper is going to bring him back to the house, but only if the police is not involved. I have to clear you all out. I don't want you guys to go too far, though. I may have told Sherlock I would do it for him, but I want you in a position to storm in just in case. From what I can tell, he trusts his captor, but I am not so sure yet. Could be a sort of Stockholm syndrome thing."

"I am going to arrest this man the second he shows up," Lestrade said sternly.

"I would like you to, if it is necessary,"

The police left 221B empty. It looked as if they had never been there in the first place. John sent his beloved a quick text to tell him that the coast was clear. The game might have been on, again.

***

Dexter finally got dressed in clothes that made him look terribly like the tourist that he technically was. Sherlock muffled a laugh at the strange sight, a Florida resident transported into cold England. It was amusing.

"I am not into the way you look at me, it is weird," Dexter said, breaking the silence. 

"I am not too keen on the way you abduct people, I have bruises all over my arms," Sherlock gave a strong retort.

"Sorry, not used to carrying around living humans,"

Sherlock's lips parted, but he didn't make a sound. He felt as thought he were staring in a mirror, albeit a slightly older, more muscular, darker, American mirror, but a mirror no less. He wondered how far he was from becoming Dexter. He also wondered if he would enjoy going down that path. If Dexter was the other side of the coin, could he also change?

"You going to say anything, Sherlock?"

"Yup,"

Dexter squinted his eyes and really looked at the man in front of him. It was interesting, his eyes and the way he moved. Maybe it was not interesting, it was actually rather intriguing.

"If I had a legitimate idea of an actual gender preference, though I have only ever been with women, I would want to do many bad things to you and I don't mean with a blade."

"That is...that is weird. We have somewhere to be. My flat, to be exact. Perhaps, we should get on with it." Sherlock said in an uneasy tone.

"Right,"

***

Dexter and Sherlock walked up the steps to 221B. The whole cab ride there was silent and yet it seemed like they should have been saying something.

"Can I really trust John?" Dexter asked.

"But of course, he is the only man that I fully trust and he has seen all that I am," Sherlock half smiled as he opened the door to the flat. 

John stood up from his chair with impressive speed. He reached for his gun, ready for anything. He carefully watched his husband walk in, followed by the very normal looking man who had his hand on the small of Sherlock's back.

"Hi, John," Sherlock yanked the doctor into his arms and kissed him on the forehead. The doctor, however, was still in shock.

"That guy...is your captor?" John found the words to express what he was thinking, despite it sounding wrong.

"Don't sound so surprised," Dexter grumbled.

"You look so...not like someone you abducts consulting detectives,"

"Dexter is of the sociopathic sort, or at least that is what I have gathered, and no, we do not have a look. He is a former forensic blood splatter analyst for Miami Dade..."

"Metro," Dexter corrected.

"Miami Metro Homicide, whatever. Dexter also kills bad people and he faked his own death to protect those closest to him. We won't turn him into the police if we are able to close the case." Sherlock explained.

"What case?"

"The Comic Killer. Started in America, moved over to England to continue his work. This man targets young boys, those particularly under the age of ten, with affinities for a certain superhero with no superpowers. He mutilates the bodies and dumps them in and around stores that sell comic books."

"I have heard about that. So, we are going to catch this guy and then hand him over to your new friend?" 

"No, he isn't going to kill this one as long as he is turned into the police with no means of escaping the charges,"

John studied Dexter. He was weird, in a wow-this-guy-is-too-normal kind of a way. He was apparently a sociopath, with a heart. That was easy to read since John had married one.

"Two of you under one roof cannot be a good thing,"

"Oh, John, it will be wonderful without Lestrade on this case," Sherlock said cheerfully.

Dexter nodded. "We will be heroes. We will be saving the lives of many innocent children."

The murderous one moved beside the clever one and put an arm around him. John wasn't sure how he felt about that, but he would trust the man if Sherlock did. He pulled out his mobile and texted Lestrade to call off the cavalry.

"Why don't you go by William?" Dexter asked out of the blue.

"Why do you want to know?" Sherlock asked, in shock. A good researcher, indeed.

"Just a question, you don't have to answer it,"

"Good, because I am not,"


	5. You Can Do A Lot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do pick up a lot of funny sayings off of my favorite shows, if they fit into these stories. I do have to say that Friends had some of the most amazing ones, at least for these situations. I thank them. They were all brilliant.

"Mycroft, Myc, my favorite brother-in-law,"

"Cut the crap, John, I do not have time for this,"

"Get me any and all information on Dexter Morgan and I will help you come up with a crafty way to propose to Greg," John's small smile grew immensely and part of it was because he knew he was going to get hit.

"Why on earth would you think that I would want to follow in my brother's footsteps on the road to domestic bliss?" Mycroft asked.

"Because Gregory Lestrade is your lobster,"

"Lobster? I thought he was a goldfish?"

"Lobsters mate for life. Would you prefer that I call him your penguin?"

"Will you stop with the analogies if I agree to dig up information on this Dexter Morgan you mentioned?"

"Yeah, pretty much,"

"Then I will see what I can do,"

"Thank you," John's smile was genuine now. He wasn't risking an umbrella swinging towards his head. 

"By the way, John, Lobsters don't mate for life. Penguins do, for the most part. Swans or termites would have been better examples."

***

Dexter sprawled out across the sofa and thumbed through old case files that were piled around the room. Sherlock had unmistakeable talent. Details only someone mad would pick up had solved many a crime. Dexter reminded himself how lucky he was that Sherlock Holmes had not been around him in Miami and he wasn't even sure if he believed in luck.

"Having fun?" Sherlock asked. He pushed Dexter's legs on to the floor and sat down with Josephine on his knee. 

"Yeah, in a sense. I am impressed seeing these things up close. These files, these pictures, so much better than what I have read on the blog. You certainly have a way with things."

"Mrs. Hudson is home, she can watch the twins, do you want to go to Bart's with me?" Sherlock said on a whim.

"Bart's?"

"A hospital, Saint Bartholomew's. We could go look around. No sense in sitting around here until dark." 

Dexter nodded. "It's a date,"

***

Sherlock and Dexter walked in and startled Molly out of her wits. "What the hell?"

"Molly, Dexter. Dexter, Molly. Dexter is a...was a blood spatter analyst. Just wants to look around."

"You were the one wearing that god awful plaid jacket. I remember you. You took Sherlock."

"He did, but it is water under the bridge,"

"How can someone kidnapping you become water under the bridge?" Molly asked.

"Because he had a legitimate reason. He wanted my help and didn't want that Anna woman to kill me. Dexter and I are cut from the same cloth, if you can believe it. The main difference is the way we help the world." Sherlock explained.

Molly shook her head. She didn't understand at all. Her eyes met Dexter's calm green ones. It could have been true. Dexter had the same icy expression she had always seen in Sherlock's. Why sociopaths were so damn attractive to her was officially something she wanted to address with her therapist.

"Mmmkay...so, why are you guys even here?"

"Morbid curiosity. Want to look at information on the Comic Killer's victims." Dexter said with an excited smile on his face. "I am looking forward to catching this bastard. I would prefer to end him my way, but I have accepted Sherlock's terms."

Molly was sure that her mouth was agape. The uncanny similarities in the two men far surpassed any differences. She never really thought about soul mates until she saw them standing side by side. She had always assumed that John was the only one for her detective friend, but this shook that belief. Dexter could seriously be the person that was meant to share that mess of a man's bed. It was not something she wanted to deal with, but more importantly she needed to see John. 

"Sure. Sure. Have a Look."

***

Lestrade, Mycroft, and John sat at a table in the cafe sipping on their preferred beverages. The three of them seemed odd apart, but made a decent group. As in, people were less likely to stop and stare at them. In part, that was the reason that they had these sort of get together.

"Where is my brother right now?" Mycroft asked after receiving a photo of a doll that looked like Solomon Grundy, but he wasn't all that sure and he definitely wasn't going to ask for a confirmation because that would let on to the fact that he knew things about pop culture.

"With Dexter, probably diving in dumpsters. This guy has taken some of my work load off the past few days. It is nice to go to a shift and work it without having to leave. Though, I hope it is only temporary." John rambled lightly.

"He just sent me a picture of a zombie doll," Mycroft presented the doctor with the mobile, allowing him to take a closer look at the screen.

"I am not even all that sure that I want to know what he is doing,"

Lestrade was uneasy. John couldn't help, but notice. He was quiet and he was fidgety, which would have seemed somewhat normal except John was married to the Sherlock Holmes and that had caused him to be painfully more observant. Something was up.

It took him less than a minute to figure out what was happening. The British Government was sitting even closer to the Detective Inspector and had yet to take notice. Gregory Lestrade was going to beat his lover to the punch.

"Mycroft?" Greg said Mycroft's name with an interesting smooth tone. The lovely white gold engagement ring with the blue and white diamond setting was already being held towards the elder Holmes in between Greg's thumb and index finger.

Mycroft turned towards Lestrade. His eyes came across the ring and he took in a sharp breath. This was not what he was expecting. "Gregory,"

"Well, are you going to say something besides my name or do I have to ask the entire question?" Lestrade asked his long time boyfriend, his Mycroft. 

"Yes," He replied.

"Yes, you will marry me?"

"Yes. Yes. Now, just slide that ring on my finger and cease talking about it or you will make a scene."

Molly busted in on the men in the middle of the cafe. "John! John, do you believe in soul mates?" So much for not making a scene.

"Not really, why?"

"I just met Sherlock's,"

John's lips parted, then he closed his mouth into a tight line. There was a long pause before he actually made an effort to say anything. "Say that again,"

"Sherlock brought his friend Dexter to Bart's earlier. Dexter is Sherlock's soul mate."

"Did you tell them that?" John asked, grimacing as if the words caused him pain.

"No. God no. I just wanted to warn you." Molly decided to sit down with the three men. The formaldehyde smell was a mood killer.

"Warn me?"

"One of them is bound to see it eventually," 

Mycroft put in his particular brand of input. "Dexter...Why on earth are you still allowing my brother to associate with the man who abducted him?" It was nice to know that he was finally catching up with the subject of discussion. 

Lestrade had not been told about Dexter to a full extent, yet. As far as the Detective Inspector was concerned, the man was just another client. John was now going to have to explain to him why they didn't want to turn him in, despite the awful thing that he did. 

"Yes, Greg, the guy who abducted Sherlock from the pub is sleeping on our sofa. I lied when I told you that the guy who took him had left. He doesn't mean any harm, from what I can tell, and he says he will disappear from our lives when the case we are working on is over. He is American and demented as all hell, but he and Sherlock see eye to eye and I am accepting of that."

"I am going to do my best to pretend that what you just said isn't messed up, but I will come after him if anything happens," Lestrade turned to Mycroft for approval, but the elegant man was completely silent.

Silence followed. It was an okay thing, but John's mind was racing at an alarming rate and it was all over something that was probably nothing. 

"So, you really don't believe in soul mates?" Molly finally asked him.

"Used to, but some people did a pretty good job of changing that for me. I think that you fall in love with someone you have a connection with and work at it until it is right."

"That is hogwash," Lestrade mumbled. 

"You think that we are soul mates then?" Mycroft asked with his eyebrows raised and his hands in a steeple.

"Yeah, actually, I do,"

"Oh brother," John muttered under his breath. He didn't care for the this-parachute-is-actually-a-knapsack feeling very much. The eject button for this scenario would have been a grand investment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do not be alarmed, Sherlock is not going to actually hook up with Dexter...it is just a theory of those around them.


	6. Scar Fire

"Do your eyes always change colors?" Dexter asked Sherlock as the two stood in the dim light of the nursery. Dexter appreciated children, loved them even and had been dying to play with John and Sherlock's little ones. It made him miss his own son. 

"What kind of question is that? Do my eyes change colors? I don't know, Dex, does your mouth assist you in breathing?" Sherlock snorted irritably at the question he thought was stupid. He lifted his daughter up and handed her to the strange man who still hadn't stopped staring.

"Can you bring yourself to answering me without going off on a rant?"

"Yes, but due to the differences in lighting. I am sure yours change slightly since it is a natural occurance."

Sherlock's mobile chirpped with the arrival of a message. 

**Another victim found. Comic Killer. See you there. Bring Mr. Spatter. -JW**

"We have work to do, Mr. Morgan, our friend has struck again and I could really use the help of my blood spatter analyst."

Dexter's eyes resembled that of a kid on Christmas. "Does that mean that the game is on?"

"Yes, precisely,"

"What about the twins?" Dexter asked, pressing a finger lightly against Josephine's tiny nose. "Your landlady is out."

Sherlock honestly hadn't thought about this happening because Mrs. Hudson was always there when he needed her. They couldn't leave them alone, obviously, so they would simply have to bring them along. Not safe in the slightest, but they needed to get to the crime scene.

"We will take them, of course. My children will definitely be interested in this at some point. Early exposure is key. We will also have to walk, but it is only twenty five minutes walking distance. Should be fine."

"I tried to keep my son, Harrison, away from the gruesome, but okay. Your kids, we will do it your way." Dexter knew first hand what happened to children who were exposed to violence at young ages. He just hoped that they were young enough to not be impacted. 

***

Sherlock was excited. When they arrived on scene John had plenty of complaints revolving around the twins arriving with them, but Sherlock was still smiling. None of that had mattered to the detective. He was much too busy examining the body behind the book store.

Dexter was just as involved. The pattern of blood was curious. It wasn't like the other victims. He sensed an air of carelessness. It was that or he was looking to get caught. Either way, this kill let on to more details about the murderer.

"Anthony Ruggard, age ten, severely autistic. He was the heir to the Ruggard Auto Parts fortune. It is the same story as it is with all of the others." Lestrade rattled off. He was not all that comfortable with the fact that Dexter had gloved up and started examining the blood in an all too Sherlock-y way, but he was not about to cause a domestic.

"The blood is different, so you are wrong," Dexter mentioned.

"He has gotten rather careless,"

"He is using a different knife," Sherlock added.

Sherlock and Dexter were on opposite sides of the boy's body. They worked quickly and thoroughly and it was rather interesting to watch for the bystanders. John was still mad about the fact that Sherlock had brought their infant children to a crime scene via the stroller.

Anderson arrived, for the fifth time in a week noted Holmes, late. "Who the hell?"

"I am not explaining him anymore. His name is Dexter. He is assisting us with a case. That is all I will say." John groaned.

"And I thought that Mycroft was bad," Lestrade laughed. 

"I know, Dexter is like the third pea in that pod,"

Suddenly, the consulting detective looked like a happy cat. "Not careless, sloppy. There are two brown hairs on the boy's shirt. Human, adult."

"That makes me very, very...happy," Dexter sang, beaming from ear to ear.

Sherlock ripped a glove off and placed a hand on Dexter's muscular shoulder. It felt stronger than John's. "Where did you put the knife? The original one, not the one he used on this child."

"What?" He tried to play it off, but couldn't fight the smile that came from getting caught by the one and only Sherlock Holmes. 

"I know that you lifted the blade from one of the crime scenes. That is brilliant, actually. You figured that the fingerprints on the handle would lead you to your goal. You couldn't find him. It was stupid." Sherlock deduced.

Dexter stood up next to the powerful minded Englishman. "You and I, we make sense, doing this. Going forward, It is almost a shame that I am not coming out of retirement permenantly."

"I concur,"

John pretended that the glances exchanged between the two sociopathswas not the equivalent of eye fucking, but it was hard. It really was more than likely just a glance, but Molly's soul mate discussion had the doctor on edge. 

***

Mind palaces, kill counts, twisted versions of normal personalities, and strange childhood experiences were just the beginning of the conversations that went on between Dexter and Sherlock. Their brains worked at similar rates. John hated it. Seeing them both on the sofa burned him.

They kept touching. Little, flirtatious touches and brushes of the hands. There was also one awkward, obligatory, way too long embrace.

This was ridiculous and John was definitely jealous. Probably wouldn't stand for it much longer.

"I have run out of energy, good night," Sherlock called as he went to climb the stairs to the bedroom he shared with his beloved blogger.

When he was out of earshot, John went into full fledged verbal attack mode. "You need to stop whatever it is that you are doing. Whatever your intentions are with my husband, I suggest that you really consider ceasing them. I might be shorter than you, but I was in the army and I will kick your arse."

Dexter just laughed. 

"What!? Why are you laughing? Know something I don't? Are you already sleeping with him you sick bastard?!" John asked, defensively.

"He was right, you are an idiot,"

"Because it took me so long to figure it out?"

"No, because you are actually stupid enough to think that your husband would even contemplate cheating on you. Contrary to what it looks like most of the time, Sherlock does love you."

"Then what is with all of the flirty and crap?"

"You call that flirting? You must have lost your damn mind. Sherlock isn't interested in me. I do find his mind alluring, but I am not interested in him. My suggestion to you would be to count your blessings, go upstairs, and tell that man how much you love him, because the way he feels about you does not come easy for a sociopath." Dexter told him. "I will keep an eye on Hamish and Josephine."

John didn't think twice about his words. He took off up the stairs to his bedroom hoping that his pretty detective was still awake. 

Sherlock was sitting upright with his hands in their traditional thinking position. Since his eyes were closed it was difficult to tell what level of conciousness he was actually in. He gave himself away when he dropped his hands over his stomach, though he never opened his eyes.

"John," He drug out his husband's name as he drew in a deep breath. "I need you to stop coming to your own conclusions and go back to helping me...by doing what you do best."

John crawled into the bed with Sherlock, leaning his head against his chest. "I would like that,"

"I thought so. I will be honest, though, I really need you because they pay me more when you are around. You are much more personable."

"Wouldn't know it by the way you act around Dexter,"

"Only because he is much like me as far as thought processes go. I am still not okay with his 'dark passenger' in the slightest, despite me trying to. Don't tell him, but I have been collecting evidence against him. I may turn him in to the state of Florida. It would ensure that he would not continue to kill in England."

"Aren't you full of surprises?"

"I don't know, am I?"

"Kind of. I was beginning to think that you would fancy a nice romp in the sack with him after what Molly told me."

Sherlock stopped the absentminded stroking of his stomach to fully turn towards John. "What did Molly say, exactly?"

"That you and Dexter are soul mates,"

"That is absurd. I don't believe in soul mates. It is a very stupid concept. I have only ever loved one person and that is you, but I do not actually think we are soul mates. I think that we fell in love because we fought to make it work and because we were two people that could actually handle each other's personalities."

John pulled Sherlock into a tight embrace. "Oh thank god,'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They make jokes that as Michiganders, we explain distances in time...always...well, I hope we are not the only ones.


	7. A Hunter

Dexter uncovered the identity of the Comic Killer before anyone else. He didn't tell the others. For all he was concerned this was his case and he would deal with it the only way that he knew how. 

He found that he was in need of supplies. He kept a few things from his old life, but not enough. Thanks to Sherlock he knew someone that could give him exactly what he wanted. Molly was more than an aesthetically pleasing, nervous female with an undying adoration for the detective. 

She spun around to face him. She could feel him breathing on her neck. "Dexter, what are you doing here?"

"I need your help, as it turns out. I think you may have exactly what I am looking for."

"Oh," She shuddered as his hand brushed against her arm. Maybe she was just doomed to forever be attracted to insane men. 

"Shall we play then?"

***

"What are you doing?"

"Drinking rather poorly made tea,"

"No, and you could solve that if you were a little more patient, I mean what are you doing on your phone? What is so important on the screen?"

"Looking for baby names,"

John swallowed hard, instantly suffering from dry mouth. They had agreed to put the idea of more children on the back burner until they had more space. John hadn't been as careful as he thought. 

"For God's Sake, John, I am only kidding," Sherlock assured him.

"Dammit, Holmes, I am going to beat you,"

"Off or drop the b?"

John shook Sherlock's last comment off. "So, what are you actually doing?"

"Checking to see if the store I visited with Dexter the other day has received their shipment of Sherlock dolls...or action figures, I don't know what category they actually fall under." 

"Do the dolls talk? Because if they do they won't sell very well." John laughed.

"I think so,"

"Out of curiosity, is there a relevant point somewhere in all of this?"

"Yes, INTENSE,"

"What is INTENSE?"

"That I have been told is the name of the cologne I have been smelling at all of the crime scenes. I smelled it in the comic store that Dexter and I went to. Our killer frequents it, victim hunting." Sherlock explained.

"That is brilliant," John paused. "But what does it have to do with dolls that are modeled after you?" 

"Nothing, just me being curious,"

"Oh, guess that makes sense. Should I go get Dexter?"

"You can't,"

"Why not?"

"Because he already left. My guess is that he went looking for the killer, hoping to get to him first so that he could end him. He isn't holding up his end of the deal."

"Oh shit," John sat down on the edge of the bed. "We helped him kill again."

"The comic book theme here has me in a jovial mood. I am Batman and he is Superman. Superman is all powerful and alien, so Batman never actually trusts him. Even when they work together there is an air of that inability to find a middle ground. Batman keeps kryptonite around since it is Superman's weakness and he is always waiting for Superman to do something awful. I hid the file under your arm chair. The file is the Kryptonite. Dexter is not killing anyone, not today."

"You are bad,"

"I know, but what would you do if I was any other way?"

"I don't know. Oh, I forgot to tell you that Lestrade proposed to your brother and...he actually said yes."

"Oh dear, my brother is turning into a person with a heart. Someone best alert the media."

"You are something else entirely,"

"Not exactly. We have a store to visit! Have Lestrade meet us there! Bring the file!"

***

Sleeping with Molly Hooper was not the most constructive way to get what he needed, but it worked. Everything was set up behind the comic store in an over sized, mostly empty rubbish skip. It was not entirely discreet, but it needed to be close. He was going to get the guy before he could strike again and before Sherlock Holmes arrived. Time was of the essence.

Dexter walked up and down the aisles of books, posters, graphic novels, and toys. He kept his eyes on the prize, waiting for the man's shift to be over. This all made sense, he worked in the one place they hadn't found a body. Clever, but also incredibly stupid.

Sherlock busted in, John right behind him. He didn't look like a man on a mission, but he did look like a man who had a goal. He was going to take a closer look at the Sherlock Holmes dolls.

John grabbed one off of the shelf to look at closer.

"Open it,"

"It doesn't talk and no,"

"That is...underwhelming," Sherlock mumbled at the sight in front of him.

"Well, what do you want me to do about it? You were the one who told me to pull it out." John grumbled in response. 

"It is so small, I guess I just imagined it would be bigger," 

"That is what everyone wants to hear,"

"Just being honest. I really can't understand what all of the fuss was about. It is so SMALL!" Sherlock was about to reach out and grab it, but pulled his hand back when he heard the ticking and quickly changed his mind. 

"Dammit, if you aren't going to finish the job, then I will," Lestrade grabbed the doll out of the box, ripping open the back to yank out the battery pack. "There! You mo-rons happy now!?"

Sherlock and John stood still in the middle of the toy aisle. Sherlock was now holding the dismantled doll in his hands. Lestrade had stormed off. 

"That...wasn't very nice," John finally said after what must have been at least five minutes of silence. 

"Yes, not nice at all," Sherlock replied. The doll now appearing to be cradled in his large hands.

"The doll is pretty pathetic though, doesn't even look like you,"

"I should get one for Molly, well, one that doesn't have a scary battery pack in it,"

"Definitely creepy," John wrapped an arm around Sherlock's waist. 

"But we have work to do,"

"Sherlock? Is that you?" Dexter asked from the other aisle.

"Yes, it is. Dexter, why did you go ahead of me? You know that you are not allowed to release your 'dark passenger'."

"Because life in prison is not good enough for this man,"

"Killing him isn't the answer," Sherlock whispered.

The clerk must have overheard part of the conversation. He darted out the back door. Hopefully, Lestrade was where they had planned so he could grab the man and apprehend him before he got too far.

The three still standing in the store registered what was going on and took after the clerk. Dexter had a hold of the man's wrist for a moment, but he struggled free. It was John who was able to jump him, knocking him to the ground with little effort. The man dropped like a sack of bricks, in front of the skip.

Lestrade looked inside, looked at the heroes of the day, and then had the murder taken away in a patrol vehicle. There was more to this story, however, and he was eagar to find out. 

"Alright, you three, how did you crack this one? He certainly doesn't look like the type to go around mutilating young boys."

"Never do, but certainly bolting out of your place of work before your shift is over doesn't look suspicious," Sherlock said, shaking his head.

"John does it all the time to go be with your crazy arse and no one suspects him of being a child killer," Lestrade, oddly, did have a valid point.

"Get back on your knees for my brother, huh,"

"Stop that. No need for sass. Just one more thing, why has he been doing it?"

"He is autistic himself, mildly. His name is Michael Young. He is from Santa Monica, California, where he began his killings. As a child of ten he was told to stop reading comics and start working harder. Then someone came along, stepfather, who tried to kill him because they believed that people with his condition should not be allowed to live. It was in the news. He survived, but was found with deep, mutilating scars on his body. He grew up, still believing his stepfather's words and that people like him should be eliminated. Especially, the ones who would grow up into money."

"That is ridiculous,"

"In the world of murderous psychopaths, nothing is ridiculous," Dexter said with an unusual sense of pride. 

Sherlock latched onto the auburn haired man's sleeve. "I will deal with you later,"

Lestrade looked to John for an explanation. "What is he getting on about?" 

"I will tell you later, actually, I probably won't, but know that there is way more to this that you actually want to know," 

"Does anyone know why there was a mini bomb in the battery pack of that weird little doll?"

"MORIARTY!" Dexter shouted over-dramatically with his fists in the air.

"Really?" 

"No, I just wanted to know what it felt like to say his name since everyone treats him as if he is Lord Voldemort or someone like that."

"I will give you that, but seriously don't say things like that,"

Everyone's attention was directed towards Sherlock. He wobbled a bit, struggling to keep his balance. He was pale, much more than usual. The second that everyone went to his side to stop him from falling he ran to the skip and vomited all over Dexter's kill tools.

Dexter almost cried. He worked hard to set that up. He worked even harder to get all of the things there. 

John held on to his husband. Now was not the time for him to fall apart.


	8. Fortunes

"Were you really checking the stock of the doll or did you just pull up the webpage to deter me from what you were actually doing?" John asked Sherlock.

The detective looked up, but didn't make a sound. He had been completely silent from the moment they arrived back at their flat. John knew the answer already. Sherlock had been looking at real estate listings. He had a good reason, though. 

"Did you look at my web history on my phone? This is the only reason I can think of that would cause you to ask me that. Why did you go through it?"

John didn't feel the need to hold up the facade anymore. "I saw the one that you inquired on. Five bedrooms, fenced in yard, only one neighbour, but not in London. That was the one little detail that stuck out to me the most. Not. In. London. Are you sure about that?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No, I'm not. I love this place. This flat is our home, but there is not enough space here. We can't bring a third child into this flat, two in one bedroom is already a tight fit."

"I know, but maybe it doesn't have to be," John whispered, wrapping an arm around his sickly looking husband.

"John, you are insane,"

"Maybe not, it might take more work than either of us want and we will be paying double the rent on top of the renovation costs, but the last time I checked there is no one living in 221C. Mrs. Hudson loves us and she loves our twins, it probably would not be that hard to convince her."

Sherlock wiped the cold sweat from his brow. He had been hiding his symptoms for such a long time without the doctor noticing that he was beginning to wonder how much attention John actually paid to him. He would have laughed, but his strength was low.

"I don't know how much I like the idea of our children staying in the basement," 

"We can work out all of these details when the time comes. Anyways, I figured those bedrooms would come in handy for them when they are a bit older. We would have monitors set up. I'd much rather have young children walking up stairs to get to us, then down."

"What an interesting idea," Sherlock leaned into John and rested his head on his shoulder.

"How long did you think you were going to go without telling me, you big lug?"

"Not one hundred percent sure, actually. I did contemplate waiting and then telling you that it was Dexter's."

"Glad you didn't because I probably would have killed him on the spot,"

"That is what you think," Sherlock said under his breath. He was rather confident in Dexter's abilities to take someone down, especially someone smaller.

Dexter walked in, returning from the forced trip he took to give Molly back his kill tools. Seeing the lovely couple wrenched at him, slightly since he didn't have the same thing. It was comforting to have a mate, even if he didn't fully believe in love it was almost time for him to disappear again. Just one more case. Anna.

"My ears are burning,"

"Did you have fun explaining why you had to bring it all back?" John asked.

"You really could not be les of an ass," Dexter mumbled.

"If that is the case then you should really meet my husband," John had heard him loud and clear, despite his best attempts.

Sherlock lifted his head off of John's strong shoulder. "When will you be returning to the states?"

"I won't be, at least not until you close the other American case. I want Anna Leabaux back in Shereveport, Louisiana before I get on any plane. Connect her to the murder. If anyone can do it, you can."

"Deal. I will keep you safe from anyone who might find your presence a bit disturbing, but you will not kill again in England. Period."

Dexter agreed to not bring out the tools or the efforts again. The three remained silent for a moment, basking in their genuine awkwardness.

"Mama come," Could be heard in the voice of a sweet little boy in the other room. 

The consulting detective and the doctor both perked up. They listened closer. 

"Mama come here,"

"No Ham,"

Both of the twins were talking. The happy couple couldn't stop smiling. They were going to walk into the nursery and fall in love all over again.

***

John could not have been more concerned when he walked into the flat after his shift at the surgery. He saw nothing, but papers, computers, and Dexter. Everything was strewn out across the floor, dragging from one end to the other. The only thing that didn't look to be in a severe state of upheaval was the playpen containing the twins over by the sofa. They were watching Dexter with a very curious intensity.

"Why have you tore apart well, almost everything?" John asked.

"I didn't, Sherlock did it,"

"Where is Sherlock, exactly?"

"He went to get some food...and his brother, Mike?"

"Mycroft,"

"Yeah, him. They should be back any minute. He thinks his brother is the key to solving this case in its entirety. Not sure how that works, but I will go along with it for the sake of not getting into an argument." Dexer explained.

John shook his head and turned to walk towards the bathroom. "This place is a mess. If Sher gets back before I am out tell him that he needs to hire a housekeeper if he intends to continue this trend."

"Aye, aye, Captain Watson,"

John stopped and whipped his head around towards the mad Floridian. "How did you know about that?"

"Walls are not soundproof in buildings such as this one and apparently I have ears like a great dane, that and Sherlock wears your dog tags."

"Mmm..."

Right after John closed the door to the bathroom Sherlock entered with the recently engaged Mycroft. They both stood silently watching Dexter run his thumb along a stack of papers.

Dexter looked up at the Holmes brothers. "Hi. Uh, John told me to tell you to hire a housekeeper if you planned on leaving the flat like this again."

"He can shove it," Sherlock replied with a roll of his eyes.

"I am just relaying the message,"

Sherlock sat the food down and joined Dexter on the floor. Seconds later Sherlock urged his brother to join them. Mycroft was reluctant at first, but eventually his little brother was able to draw a strange allure to sitting on that very floor.

"Want to see something really, really funny?" Sherlock asked his companions. 

"Why not?" Dexter laughed.

"Alright," Sherlock scribbled something down on a piece of paper. "Mycroft, read this exactly as it is written when John comes out of the bathroom."

"That will make him so mad,"

"At me," Sherlock shrugged it off. "Nothing I haven't dealt with before,"

"I need you to not get killed today," Dexter reminded him.

"Eh, let's do it anyways,"

They listened for the door to open. A freshly showered John Watson stepped into the threshold between the kitchen and the sitting room. He leaned against the side and watched the three men that were supposed to be solving a case.

"You are right, brother, Dexter is remarkably attractive. I will love to have him for a brother-in-law." Mycroft read aloud. He struggled not to laugh the second that Sherlock began to burst with giggles.

"Very mature," John grumbled.

"That did them in. All three were laughing. It did the doctors heart good to see people who needed enjoyment actually getting it out of life. It triggered him to kick the wedding planning magazine towards Mycroft.

"Very mature," Mycroft said mockingly. 


	9. Come On Over, Socio

"Anna is clever, but not clever enough," Sherlock laughed. He was supposed to be getting ready for his appointment, but was holding his clothes from the night at the pub instead. The label was for Leabaux Incorporated. "She picked me out of the crowd because I resemble the only Leabaux in England."

"Go on since I am now completely and utterly confused," John said with the most uncomfortable looking hand gesture to compliment it.

"It is a clothing brand that has headquarters in Shreveport and in London. The clothing brand was started by a family that had relocated to England, as well as America in 1933 or 1922 or something. That doesn't matter. What does is the fact that all of her victims were the next to take over the company. She was eliminating them for cutting her out."

"Why did they do that?"

"She is an illegitimate child,"

"Oh,"

"That would have solved the case completely had she not been stupid enough to get caught on camera twice, but she did so it has been solidified."

"Should I just call and cancel now, because I have a feeling that we are visiting Lestrade?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded. That was not the only person they would be seeing. Mycroft and Molly were going to be on their list for the day as well. There was a lot more work to do and absolutely no reason that they couldn't reschedule.

"You are very snippy today, John,"

"Let's just say that you are very lucky that I love you as much as I do,"

***

On the cab ride to meet Mycroft, who was apparently more important than solving a case or their children, John became the observant one. He glanced over the items that were sticking out of Sherlock's bag. Much of it tickled his curiosity on peak levels. From what he could tell there were at least two wedding related media types as well as a pamphlet on out-of-country adoption. The last ones were on surrogacy and an American Alternative Press magazine.  _Did Mycroft listen to that genre?_

"You and your brother, gotten close since he got engaged?" John finally worked up the courage to ask.

"Not in particular, well, maybe...I don't know. We have only been talking as much as we have lately, for the most part, due to his resources to help me solve these wonderful dual country cases. The fact that he has asked me to be the...um...the Chief Bridesmaid, since you will be Lestrade's best man, has nothing to do with it." Sherlock explained, horribly.

"Greg is going to ask me to be his best man? Mycroft seriously didn't pick Anthea? Wait, are you going to wear a dress?"

"I thought it was a bit odd myself, especially since I did not pick him for my own wedding and no, I won't be wearing a dress."

"I repeat my other question: is Greg going to ask me to be his best man?"

Sherlock scrunched up his face. "Yes, he is. I ruined it. It was supposed to be a surprise. I will take care of this one for you: it was a bit not good. Settled? Also good."

"Sometimes you are such a trip that I never need a holiday,"

The dark haired man leaned in to kiss the nose of his husband. "I relish the fact that I can still keep you on your toes,"

The two men got out of the cab. Both had been unaware that they would be killing two birds with one stone, but it did look that way. Gregory and Mycroft were both leaning up against the side of a building, waiting for them.

"Did you bring the requested materials, brother-mine?" Mycroft asked simply for the sake of asking since he had already given the bag a once over with his deductive gaze.

"I certainly would not forget when I had to cancel, have John cancel, our appointment with Neuman."

Mycroft snatched the bag away from Sherlock to better examine its contents. "It would not matter if you were bleeding out, would it? Anyways, thank you for doing this, Anthea can't be bothered with this ceremony and I cannot be seen purchasing these materials."

"You are always with Greg and you have an engagement...where is it?" John couldn't believe that Mycroft would take off something so beautiful and elegant.

Mycroft reached down the front of his shirt and pulled out a gold chain adorned with the ring in question. He took a second to admire it and slid it back into its hiding place. 

John stood there, a bit confused. Sherlock was wearing his engagement ring, wedding band, and John's dog tags and he didn't give a damn about people seeing it. The only time any of it came off was if he thought some sort of damage would occur to it. 

"Yeah, I think it is a bit silly, too," Lestrade laughed while trying to peak into Mycroft's bag.

"No, no, you don't touch,"

"Time to kill the other bird. Lestrade, we solved and connected all of the murders revolving around Miss Anna Leabaux." Sherlock announced, smiling something more than a little terrifying to the eyes, if one didn't know him.

"You're sure?"

"No, I am just guessing and pulling random ideas out of my arse!"

"Well, you have not been acting yourself lately,"

John piped in. "Dexter Morgan and hormones do that to him,"

"Shut up," Sherlock whined.

"It is true, why should I shut up? You have done a lot worse to me."

"Speaking of Dexter, where did you leave the King of Murder?" Mycroft asked with what might have been a legitimate curiosity.

"With Josie and Hamish,"

"And what are you going to name the new one?"

Sherlock made another strange face. He looked down at his stomach and decided to wrap his coat around himself a bit tighter. There was no reason everyone had to know now.

"That's for confirming," Mycroft winked. 

"How did said King of Murder get my number?" John asked, looking down at the text on his screen.

Sherlock's foot scuffed against the cement. Was he going to admit that they spent twenty minutes going through his phone and three of those were spent arranging this to happen? Not a chance.

"You...are...awful,"

"We need to go see Molly. Have some business to discuss. I want to know why she gave Dexter the tools, also need to see her about some eyeballs."

And just like that, John forgot about the best man situation.

***

Molly wouldn't look Sherlock in the eyes. He noticed. John noticed. It was making the situation a bit off. They couldn't even begin to have a decent conversation this way.

Sherlock grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to look at him. "What is going on?"

"Hmm?"

"Why won't you be Molly Hooper instead of a stranger who keeps stealing glances at my stolen thumb? Did it with a window, if you were wondering."

"I...I...I don't know what you mean,"

"Yes, you do. Spill. Now."

"I had sex with Dexter," She blurted. She cupped her hands over her mouth immediately after she said it.

His bright eyes enlarged. "What have I told you about falling for sociopaths? Nothing good comes of it."

John snorted. "I would know, but sure, take it from him,"

"You really are on a roll today, drinking the energy shots again?" Sherlock asked.

"Back to Molly, why did you sleep with Dexter?" John asked.

"He charmed me into it,"

"That is how he persuaded you to give him the supplies for the almost kill. Wonderful. Not why we are here though. I need the files on all of the victims with their eyes burned out. I need to confirm my brilliance."

Molly gathered all of the reports needed. Sherlock quickly found the information on all of the women. They were all related, just not all bearing the famous last name. It was somehow the most fantastic crime he had ever solved all the while being the dumbest. Anna messed up. She intended to kill him. None of that really mattered though. He won.

"Get what you were looking for?" Molly asked after a prolonged silence.

"Yes, now I need to have a word with everyone's favorite serial killer. Turns out he had more to show me than I thought."


	10. One Shall Stand

Dexter stood between the sofa and the coffee table for a moment. He watched the rare sun beat down on the two beautiful children in the playpen. He liked it here. He could stay with the twins, doing nothing, but babysitting and imparting wisdom forever.

In another life the consulting detective would have been his second chance. He could have done what John does. In fact, he probably would have been better at it since he was much smarter than the doctor in some respects. London could have been his endgame. Maybe he even would have found a way to bring Harrison there. 

This was not the case. It never was. He was content this way as well. He would be completely content and fine with returning to his anonymity in America when it was all said and done.

There was suddenly a long fingered, white hand squeezing his shoulder. He turned around to face the two men that had slipped into the flat without him noticing. He tried to act surprised, but he wasn't, so all he did was smile.

Sherlock's hands moved to Dexter's face. Somehow the empty hole was less empty. The detective kissed him lightly on the nose, smiling with those miraculous lips. 

"I thought the British kept all of their emotions bottled up, especially these that identify as sociopaths,"

"You didn't I would believe you if you came to me, but I would have. I really do believe it all. You are a proper genius!" Sherlock rambled vaguely before giving Dexter a peck on the cheek. 

"I'm sorry, am I missing something?"

"She didn't burn the first victim and there is still one more. The last one is her half sister. I am not giving you permission to end this case the way you would like to, but Anna is out on bail and what I don't know will not be reported to the authorities. Understand where I am going with this, Dexter?"

"Yes,"

"However, things must take place before the week is out because you now have a ticket to leave the country. Forensic Blood Spatter Analyst Morgan, I do have you files, I can expose you if you care to disobey me again."

"You are throwing me way off,"

"Sherlock, this is the part where you either ask him to join us upstairs or ask him what he wants for dinner. You can do this." John said quietly. 

Dexter turned towards the doctor. To say that he was confused would have been a massive understatement. 

"Dex," Sherlock said, holding out his hand. Their further conversation was history.

***

The flat smelled of toast, eggs, and sweat. There was a hint of something sickly sweet that canceled out a fourth thing, one no one would ever address. The reality was that the combined scents were completely awful, but Sherlock wouldn't have had it any other way.

He took a seat at the kitchen table across from John. The semi elegant, American style breakfast spread laid out on the table was fit for a king, or perhaps a president. It was quiet the way for Dexter to thank them in the morning, considering he was already gone to do his dirty work. 

Sherlock took a bite of the only thing in front of him that didn't threaten to destroy his currently calm stomach. It tasted so oddly wonderful that he found himself getting a little more daring since he was so hungry.

John smiled. "I like you like this, I like you when you are human," He reached a hand across the table and grabbed Sherlock's. "It makes you even more beautiful,"

"John..."

"For some reason, I probably do not want to know the specifics, when you are around him you are more human. It is almost as if the two of you manage to cancel each other out. It is strangely amazing. I may actually miss that part of him."

"I have it on good authority that you will miss other parts of him," Sherlock laughed lightly.

John squeezed Sherlock's hand three times, each squeeze slightly different. It was a sentence, or a saying. When it clicked with him, he did it right back. A silent exchange of feelings. 

"When do you suppose he will be back?"

"When he is done running errands, of course,"

The two men continued eating in silence. There was no more need for words. A third party had brought them closer together, miraculously. 

Hamish began to cry. It was only then that they remembered that time was running out to make 221C theirs.

***

"Smell my hand," Greg said to Mycroft.

Mycroft's left eyebrow raised in a totally puzzled look. "Why in the world would I want to do that?"

"Tell me what it smells like, help me confirm that I am not completely crazy,"

Mycroft wrapped his hand around Greg's wrist, awkward positioning in full effect due to the way they were laying on the sofa. "Completely?"

"Well, yes, because I have already accepted that I am at least partially crazy since I am going to marry you, but not entirely." Greg explained with his ever charming smile.

"Your hand smells of latex or rubber, have you been wearing gloves at work?"

"No, now smell this," Greg presented Mycroft with a small box that was roughly the size of a smartphone.

Mycroft reluctantly inhaled the box's smell. "It smells like your hand. Am I missing something?" 

Greg opened the box. Inside was something that was indeed rubber, a mobile phone case, but this was not just any case. This case was custom.

"It is a present for your brother,"

Mycroft took the case in his hands. He wanted a closer look, to examine the probably expensive phone case. "Why?"

"It is water proof, shock resistant, will not be affected by high heat or sunlight, and I am almost certain that it is Sherlock proof, generally speaking of course. Odds are, he will go out of his way to attempt breaking it, but oh well since it will be his."

"The S.H in a rose gold on a damask background, nice touch, but what is the occasion?"

"Christmas...and I wanted to thank him for being part of the reason you are in my life,"

"It isn't Christmas," Mycroft told his fiance.

"I know, my love, I know, but Sherlock will say it is after I hand him over his next case,"

"I hate Christmas, so I am actually fantastically glad that it is not that time yet,"

"I know that, too,"

"No, you don't, you did not grow up with my parents,"

"Mycroft," Greg said, shaking his head. "They are not nearly as bad as you think. I have met them."

"We haven't told them about our engagement yet, you cannot say they are not that bad until after the announcement,"

"Let's focus on your brother for now, shall we?"

Mycroft looked at his own mobile phone screen to check the time. "Speaking of Sherlock, only five hours until my jet will occupy his friend, the kidnapping serial killer,"

"Originally, he gave me all of the information on Dexter to lock him up forever, but changed his mind,"

"It is almost like he is in love with him," 

They both shuddered. Dexter creeped them both out. 


	11. Weird Beginnings

"Well, this sucks," Dexter mumbled. He glared at the bloody room he stood in. Anna was about to be in multiple bags to compensate for her many pieces. He just hadn't planned out a dump site and he couldn't exactly call Sherlock for advice.

His phone buzzed.

**Call Molly. Molly will help you. -SH**

**What? -DM**

**Just do it. She likes you. -SH**

Dexter proceeded with caution. Asking her to help him dispose of a body seemed a bit odd. Then again, she knew who he was. That had been an interesting feeling, having so many people around him that knew about his demons and one time. He couldn't quite tell if he enjoyed it or not. It was very weird.

The conversation was quick. She told him exactly where to go, even though it was going to take forever. The bags would be spread out among multiple skips on several different routes. Thankfully, a very stupid doctor gave him the keys to a car that could get him all over London. This was all providing that he could operate it better than on his way there.

Things were looking down as much as they were looking up.

***

The scene felt eerily similar to one that involved Sherlock getting on a jet to a far away place. This time, though, it was Dexter about to get on the plane and they all knew exactly where he was going. It didn't make it any easier. It was terribly bittersweet. Dexter fit into their strange world so completely that the thought of him not being in it seemed incredibly odd.

Perhaps, there was a middle ground?

Sherlock's emotions were not in check. John had been right about the way he acted when his hormones combined with the presence of the analyst was a bit off. Now that said analyst was supposed to be getting on a plane to return to his home country he was on edge. He stood with his head down behind his brother, trying to decide what things were better left unsaid. He chewed on his bottom lip to keep himself from having an outburst.

"I will think about all of you. That much is certain. Each of you have impacted me in a different way. It has been, at the very least, interesting." Dexter told the small group that had gathered to watch his departure.

"We will miss you, I think the twins will too. No one makes Josephine and Hamish laugh the way you do." John gave a salute with his simple send off.

"Agreed," Molly added. She wouldn't look him in the eyes. It hurt too much.

"May I have a moment alone with Sherlock?" Dexter asked of everyone. 

They all understood. They moved away and allowed the two strange men to have what would most likely to be their last encounter.

"What?" Sherlock said when everyone was out of earshot. He wasn't trying to be rude, he was just being himself.

"If I believed in love, true love that is, and I believed in soul mates I would want...I would...let's just say I would not be getting on that plane." Dexter sighed, scuffing his feet against the ground as he came to so many realizations at once. "I bet if I would have found someone like you, I would be happy and I wouldn't be here. I guess, and obviously I am having a hard time getting the words out, that I am trying to say that you have been too good to me and I will remember it always."

Sherlock smiled. "Say no more, I understand completely,"

Dexter suddenly felt awkward. He didn't know how to close out the discussion. Instead of saying anything else he pulled the detective into a tight embrace, taking in his scent and committing it to memory.

"Dexter," Sherlock muttered in the midst of the prolonged, overly friendly hug.

"Yes?"

"I plan to keep you in my mind palace, but also in my everyday life. Eleanor Morgan Watson or Nicholas Alexander Dexter Watson." Sherlock whispered before breaking away for good. 

Dexter boarded the jet. He waved goodbye to the motley crew of London residents who aided him on his mission. The man once known as the Bay Harbor Butcher might not have been making a comeback, but he was enjoying the last shot at the glory days. Countless lives were spared, and one woman was put to proper justice. It was true, he would never forget his time in this country, but he didn't want to anyways even if it plagued him.

This was not the true end.

This was the beginning of something new.

Dexter received a text message he didn't quite understand:

**The answers to the unexplainable are always obtainable. -JM**

He didn't know what it meant, or what he was going to do about it, but he had a feeling he knew what those initials stood for.

***

"You have an appointment with Neuman in an hour and you actually have to attend this one," John told his naked husband.

"Only if you are not going," Sherlock replied, spinning around to force John to see every inch of his porcelain frame.

"Seriously? Why can't I go? Why are you teasing me so early in the morning?" 

"I will let you do whatever you want me to later if you agree to my terms," He said with a wink that leaked seductiveness. He collapsed on to John's lap over dramatically, knowing that his body put him in control.

"That is not fair, not in the slightest,"

"But, will you agree to my terms?"

The doctor kissed the naked detective. "Of course, who wouldn't?"

Molly burst into the flat without warning. Her eyes could have told one million stories at that moment, but she was focused on telling one. The two men on the armchair, sitting almost precariously, were just wondering how in the world she had gotten in there. They were certain she didn't have a key.

"What are you doing, Molly?" Sherlock asked. He was very aware of the fact that he had no clothes on. 

"I was wondering if you might have a way to get into contact with Dexter," She mumbled.

"I could probably message him, don't you have his mobile number as well?" Sherlock asked.

"He hasn't responded to me and it is kind of a big deal,"

"Oh, I KNOW!" John felt like he was the wizard of deduction as he came to the conclusion before Sherlock did. "She's pregnant!"

Sherlock's face was blank. His husband was a doctor so it wasn't hard to figure that he had picked up on the signs. John solving the mystery before him had never been the problem. He was more dumbfounded by the fact that Molly was having a baby. The woman who had pined for him for years was now pregnant with the child of a socipathic serial killer with a conscience, which he was still trying to make sense of, who lived overseas. This was a hard pill to swallow.

"Is he right?"

"Well, um, uh, um, yes,"

Sherlock wrapped a blanket around his waist and approached Molly with caution. Her news was almost beyond his ability of comprehension. He let another man take his place, a weird thing to think about since he wasn't interested in her that way for a few obvious reasons. 

He decided to hug her. "Congratulations,"

"Thank you, now how in the world can I get a hold of the father?"

"Fantastic question, we shall see to this,"

***

Jim had been waiting for him. He had plans for him. There was no better way to continue his reign of terror then with the help of the greatest serial killer who ever graced Miami. It certainly helped that he was close to Jim's rival in a way he could have only dreamed his project would be.

With no attachments and no real identity to speak of, Dexter Morgan was ripe for the picking. Adding in the fact that he had been emotionally compromised by the world's only consulting detective just made it that much better. There was no way he would be able to refuse.

"The answers, are you ready to find them with me?" He asked.

"So, it really is you. Do you know what I do to guys like you?"

"But you won't. I will not let you. Ha, anyways, Dex, you are retired."

"I've made exceptions,"

Jim grabbed Dexter's shirt collar. "You won't do anything unless I tell you to. I own you now. You will help me get what I want." He gave the auburn haired man a peck on the cheek in conclusion.

"What makes you so sure that I will comply?" Dexter asked, feeling tingles in places he was not ready to deal with. Apparently, his dick liked everyone who gave him proper attention. 

"Well...I sort of have enough information on you to connect you back to every crime you have ever committed as well as your supposed death. Oh yes, I also have your son."

Dexter's jaw dropped, but he couldn't speak. He couldn't even figure out if the man was lying.

Moriarty just smiled. "Don't be like that, Dexie, it will just make this game harder to play,"

THE END?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided I like doing this...and want to go away from it long enough to put my other stuff in this series...since I will return to the weird duo.


End file.
